Hooked on music's notes.
Just need a person passing next to you to, the length of an odour, bring you back in the past. A face, a presence, a shape. All of this though simple odour. Even if closing eyes you can’t see correctly this person, we know him. You guess him. Concerning myself, is not more than music who brings me to countries I’ve been across. No especially the local music, or not even a good song. But evoking a country irremediably brings you to a sound, an artist, an album. I can travel without moving from my room. I don’t have much choice anyway. But despite of it, I know that I can do it. I could do a list of some songs linked to the place itches with in my mind. Sometimes they are not even named. They are just a representation. Mountain or beach. Bloc of concrete or an endless and dead flat road. I’m hooked to music notes as I do to my navigation around the globe. Those two are fitting together. It’s not more a choice than a fact. So I can travel motionlessly. It helps during this time f misery for travellers. I can, right now, pop in Turkey, then move to the Omanese coast. From there, to Ethiopia, ending in Thailand. It tales 10 minutes and do not need any movement. Could be sad tho. The fact that I can do it does not mean that I got any pleasure for doin it. Instead, I would keep cumulate places as this. Cumulate souvenirs and hang it on music notes. And later, when the movement will be meaningless, I’ll travel across the planet in a morning time, sipping coffee in my garden. Although, it was needed to exhausted myself by constant climb. Climbing the planet in each sens to land here, in this garden. Simply using pre chew photos of videos works as well. But what’s better than visiting this good ol’ souvenirs and thoughts from the past. Visiting those places where we left so much of ourselves. Considering how strong this feeling is, we could even imagine that we are gonna dislocate at some point, letting nothing left of our carnal layer. But although, it seems that we have a spare life for each place we visit. . So is all of this accumulating. I'm glad not even being landlord of it. Age, time, memory, it blow on it. Nothing's mine, except this strong desire of letting the symphony keeps playin'.